


Hidden, not gone.

by Tales_Unique



Series: Of Wolves and Griffins [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, The Witcher - Freeform, The Witcher Netflix - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tales_Unique/pseuds/Tales_Unique
Summary: The life of a Witcher is seen to be a lonely one, but that isn't always the case.When the White Wolf crosses paths with the Red Griffon they both realise that they aren't so alone on the continent after all.*Please feel free to take a peek at my other works and maybe request a little something if you like what you read!*
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Of Wolves and Griffins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657894
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	1. White Orchard

The first time the Witcher encountered the Witcheress was in the small village of White Orchard, a chance meeting that would change both their lives.

The crowded inn irritated his senses after a long day of slogging through swamps and marshes, fighting Drowners and Hags, to the point he almost abandoned the farce altogether. Their drunken merriment irritated his senses, drowned them, and it made him all the more sour when he remembered that it was all in celebration of  **him** . The insufferable tales that Jaskier had produced haunted his every step, though the coin it pulled in wasn’t so bad.

No, he wouldn’t have even noticed her if not for the soft whisper of leather boots against the floor as she moved or the faint kiss of cinnamon and wood smoke that caressed him as she slipped by. He allowed her to exit, waiting a moment before standing and leaving himself.

It was better that they take this outside, more open and less damage should things go wrong.

“I knew you’d follow me.” Her voice was clear, almost amused, sounding from the darkness to the right of him where the inn itself obscured the light of the moon. When he turned he could see the cat-like shimmer in the gloom, wide and unblinking; curious, yet wary.

“Did you now?” Geralt mused rhetorically, eyes trailing her movements as she slipped out from the shadows. 

The first thing he noticed was, again, those bewitching eyes. The eyes of a Witcher. To see the cat-like pupils and honeyed gold irises staring back at him stirred something within that he couldn’t yet name. It was a distant feeling, one that caused a dull ache to form, and it concerned him.

The second thing he noticed was that she was, indeed, female. Though not entirely impossible, the known cases of female Witchers had been little to none during the peak of their Order, but now? Now, they were as forgotten as the Witchers themselves seemed to be.

His staring hadn’t gone unnoticed. The mystery Witcheress curled her lip at him in a silent warning, though she made no move to draw her swords nor cast a Sign at him. For now, at least. But in the short time he had been observing her he had taken in many details of her appearance. Geralt took notice of her shapely body, one that had been honed into an exemplar specimen, much like his own, from the many years of training, fighting,  _ surviving _ . He noticed how her thick, auburn hair was left free to fall in gentle waves that sat at the base of her neck, as well as the threading of white going through it.

Then there was the scar. A singular, gruesome beast that tried to dominate her otherwise beautiful face. It spanned from her left temple and down across her cheek to a stop at the corner of her lips before continuing over her chin and jaw. Clean and white, the scar was long since healed but Geralt knew better than to assume it was the only one she possessed. 

“I had thought the Witchers were long gone,” Geralt then spoke, attempting to ease some of the tension in the air. “Myself not included,” he added, briefly glancing to the inn at the rukus within grew quiet for a moment before returning to its usual, lively state. His words earned a scoff but her expression betrayed the spark of sadness she felt from them. It was a lonely and isolated life that they led, after all.

“ **Hidden** , not gone,” she corrected, voice quiet and sombre, “but I can speak only for myself.”

Geralt nodded, mind brimming with many questions but not uttering a single one. It wasn’t the place nor time for him to be so openly intrusive of her privacy and he would have respected that if not for what he saw next.

The glimmer of a pendant wouldn’t go amiss, but the symbol in which she sported was familiar; the head of a  **griffin** . His brow furrowed as he took a couple of steps forward to look at it better, just to be sure that his eyes didn’t deceive him. When she didn’t recoil or attack he stepped even closer, pointing to the pendant.

“You’re under the School of the Griffin?”

“I was.”

“And you came from Kaer Seren?”

“No, I came from Koviri. I was  **taken** to Kaer Seren. But it’s abandoned now and I roam the continent.”

Geralt nodded, noting the resentment that bled through into her words as well as her sarcasm. He knew the life that she had endured at such a young age and understood the anger she felt; no one  **chose** to become a Witcher.

“And what is your name?” It came easily, the questions, a fact that distantly startled him.

“Kalrys,” she answered after a moment of contemplation, no doubt considering whether or not she trusted him enough yet to give her name.

“Kalrys,” he repeated, a smirk coming to his lips as he nodded appreciatively, “Kalrys of Koviri, has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Mhm, almost as much as Geralt of Rivia or the White Wolf does.”

It wasn’t so much the knowledge of who he was that shocked him but more the tone in which she spoke of him. It sounded almost fond, something that he hadn’t expected of a stranger, even if she was a fellow Witcher. His lack of response, or perhaps it was his expression, caused a small chuckle to spill from her lips. A pretty sound, it almost didn’t belong there in the world of Witchers and monsters.

Allowing a quiet spell to fall over them, Geralt watched as Kalrys took a step back, pulling up her hood to obscure her face from view.

“I should go,” she murmured, causing a frown to take hold of his face before he could stop it, though he made no attempt to stop her. It was better this way. They would only cause problems for one another, operating in the same location and so on. Or so he told himself. In truth, he didn’t want her to go. This fellow Witcher, a stranger, knew the hardships that he had endured and had experienced the pain that he had felt. She knew the plight he endured personally for it was one that she herself suffered. They were bonded in a manner that couldn’t be defined by mortal standards.

“You could stay,” he replied, but it was too late. There’s nothing but empty space where she had stood. With a sigh Geralt returned to the rowdy inn, sparing a moment to wonder if he would see her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to start this at White Orchard cause I do really love that little village, even with the Griffon attacking and all.  
> It felt fitting.


	2. Crows Perch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1

The second time the Witcher encountered the Witcheress it wasn’t even he that came across her, but rather Jaskier as he sang his tales on a dirt road in Crows Perch.

The Bard had, once again, amassed a crowd of locals, all enraptured with his epic tale of his travels with The White Wolf. He strummed his lute with practised ease, grinning amidst his words before coming to, in his opinion, the catchiest chorus he had thought of so far.

“Toss a coin to your Witch— **Oi** !”

Abruptly the music came to an unceremonious end as a hooded stranger rushed past him, shouldering him sharply in the arm. Just barely catching himself, and his precious lute, Jaskier bristled.

How dare they ruin his most famous song (to date)! 

While the crowd gasped and murmured amongst themselves Jaskier took off in a brisk jog, keeping his lute close so that it wouldn’t be ruined by his pace. He called after the mystery figure as they tried to flee but to no avail for they didn’t slow nor stop.

It wasn’t until he’d ran what felt like miles around the hold did he finally get his answers.

Quick as a flash she, who he could clearly see was a woman upon closer examination, turned on her heel to confront him. Her face, hidden mostly in shade by her hood, was pulled into a scowl and Jaskier barely had time to stumble back as she lashed out at him. With a wimpish yell he hugged his lute close, anger melting into shock and fear in the face of his possible demise.

“Why are you following me?” She hissed, eyes blazing like a cornered lioness.

Jaskier stood there for a moment with his mouth flapping and sputtering like a fish gasping for air at her accusation, eyes wide. It was almost as if he didn’t recall giving chase rather than letting it go.

“Why— What—  **You** are the one who barged into  **me** !” He yelled back, all fear suddenly forgotten as he jabbed a finger in her direction. If he had spared a moment to observe the woman before him he would have realized how outmatched he truly was. “Do you even realize what could have happened? You could have broken my  **lute** that’s what! And  _ oh _ let me tell you, that would not have ended well  **_and_ ** —  **_Oh_ ** !” The torrent of speech morphed into a breathless gasp, his expression flitting between several different emotions in rapid succession before falling on disbelief.

At this the woman rolled her brilliant eyes, the source of his fixation. These weren’t any ordinary eyes and Jaskier knew it. They were the eyes of a Witcher and already Jaskier could feel the bubbling of excitement stirring in his stomach at the thought of a new muse to write about.

“Oh my God you’re a Witcher, and a  **woman** too! I didn’t even know women Witchers even existed! Oh, that sly dog, he never even mentioned any of this! You wait ‘till he comes back, oh, he’s going to have a stern talking to!” Jaskier rambled, scoffing bitterly to himself, “damn you Geralt, just when I thought we were starting to—”

The Witcherress had been intending to use his babbling to slip away, but at the mention of Geralt’s name she paused midstep, and now it was her turn to look at him in shock. Still rambling on, she used his lack of focus to stun him into silence by clamping her hand over his mouth, stifling the yelp that she’d startled out of him.

“Now listen closely, Bard,” she said, looking over Jaskiers face to ensure that she had his undivided attention, “I am going to let go of you and I want you to tell me what you know of Geralt, do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

A slow, single nod, and she smiled at the tinge of fear that prickled over his skin. Carefully she peeled away her hand, watching in amusement as he took in a deep breath, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally settled himself.

“Where to begin, aha, it’s, well, not that long of a story, actually,” Jaskier started, chuckling nervously when she glared at him. “I stumbled upon Geralt in a pub, as one often does, and he practically  **begged** me to capture his travels and—”

“Funny, I don’t remember it like that at all Jaskier.”

The sudden voice took Jaskier by surprise, causing a shriek to leave his lips. He had been in the midst of creating an elaborate lie, based upon truth of course, to try and snare the Witcheress and hadn’t been paying any mind to anything else around him. Though, now the fright had worn off Jaskier gave him a look most foul, pointing a finger in a warning.

Of course Geralt had to come along and ruin the whole thing. And, what a surprise, she didn’t seem even remotely phased. In fact he’d dare say that she looked amused. Like she’d been playing along the entire time and was waiting for it to happen. The audacity!

“Oh, of  **_course_ ** , you had to come at this very moment, didn’t you?” He snapped, starting to pace between the two Witchers, “I can never have a moment to just  **show off** can I? Just bloody typical—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, shooting him a stern look that told him to shut up before he made an even bigger arse of himself before looking at Kalrys with a somewhat sympathetic expression.

“It’s fine,” she answered, lips twitching in a smile. As she stepped around Jaskier and passed Geralt she pulled down her hood, freeing her hair as she moved further into the sunlight. “You keep interesting company, White Wolf,” she teased, glancing back at them both over her shoulder. In the daylight the red in her hair shimmered like copper and her skin glowed. Even that awful scar on her face looked appealing in its own way.

Both of them couldn’t deny that she had a fierce sort of beauty to her; like a flame, she was as dangerous as she was alluring.

“Wait! Are you staying in Crows Perch or just passing through?” Jaskier quickly asked, fidgeting on the spot when she turned to look at him more closely with those feline eyes of hers, a smirk slowly stretching her lips the more anxious he became.

“I'm not sure at the moment.” Kalrys answered vaguely, just to watch him squirm.

“Oh, well then, perhaps you’d like to listen to me perform later? At the inn?” He asked, pointing back the way they had initially come from, “I take it that’s where you’re staying, yes? We’re staying there too, at the moment.”

Kalrys was quiet for a moment, contemplating his offer.

“He’ll pay for your drinks.” Geralt chimed in before Jaskier had the chance to stop him, crossing his arms across his chest with a smirk

“That—” Jaskier abruptly stopped himself midsence, noticing how his statement seemed to sway the Witcheress towards agreeing, “—is  **exactly** what I’ll do! Drinks on me, free with the performance! Just for you, of course.” He grinned, giving her a graceful bow.

“Until tonight then,” Kalrys hummed, curious of what the night would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I broke this up because I could already see it getting long and wanted to try shorter chapters.  
> I hope everyone is enjoying this so far!


	3. Crows Perch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2

As dusk crept ever closer, Jaskier found himself particularly nervous. Since he had met the Witcheress in Crows Perch hours before her person became a regular sight around the hold. Of course he _knew_ that it was possible to run into her since the place was only small and she’d made no effort to leave it’s walls, but it still worried him.

Why, you ask? It was simple. 

She was a beautiful, dangerous woman (and also a  _ Witcher _ ) that had no business being such when he, a lowly (yet  _ talented _ and  _ handsome _ ) Bard could never have her.

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned, rolling his eyes again for what seemed the millionth time.

“What? I want to look good, Geralt! You know, for our  **guest** of honour!” Jaskier snapped as he looked over another sad excuse for an outfit. He tutted at the colour and the fabric, huffing in annoyance. 

“Honestly Jaskier, she won’t care what you’re wearing,” Geralt stated, just wanting to return to the inn. It had been a long day and he just wanted to sit with a bottle of Vodka in peace while Jaskier entertained the locals. Luck appeared on his side as Jaskier finally relented and allowed them to leave, leaving Geralt to settle at his usual table in the corner.

By the time Jaskier had begun his song the inn was already filled with locals and strangers alike, all reveling in the alcohol and atmosphere. The revelry was so cloying that Geralt, once again, barely noticed Kalrys slip into the room until she was practically at his side.

“Geralt,” came her soft voice, greeting him respectfully. In each hand she held a large mug of deep red wine, no doubt a fancy and imported batch if the scent and colour alone was an indicator. As she sat beside him on the bench she set one of the mugs before him, offering it with a motion of her hand as she took a sip of her own.

Without a moment's hesitation Geralt lifted the mug to his lips and, after dipping his head in thanks to her, took a long drink. A hum of approval sounded as he savoured the taste of his tongue, it almost enough to drown out the rabble of the inn around him. “Toussaint Red, fitting,” he muttered, nodding. A good choice, one that definitely suited her.

“It was a gift,” Kalrys reminisced, swirling the wine about in her mug, eyes distant, “from a tailor in Oxenfurt. I’d saved his daughter while on a contract to kill a Wraith.” In truth she hadn’t known that the young girl had been missing, nor that there was a reward for her safe return, but she had saved her anyway.

Geralt remained quiet at her tale but the respect for her choice could be felt by her keen Witcher senses and she smiled faintly to herself. She raised her mug in a silent cheer when she caught Jaskier’s gaze, watching him laugh and grin as he continued to play.

A comfortable silence passed between the two Witchers as they continued to drink as much as Jaskier continued to play, though they both seemed far more sober than the people around them. Humans couldn’t handle their drink very well, that much was abundantly clear.

“Tell me, why bring expensive wine when you could have had free beer all night?” Geralt asked some time after the din had quietened down, the alcohol taking effect on them all and loosening their tongues. Even Jaskier seemed more relaxed in his playing, adding to the mood.

Kalrys was quiet for a moment, cat eyes looking at her mug in contemplation before she lifted her gaze to regard him. “I finally found the right company to share it with,” she answered slowly before looking away. “I mean,” she then continued after taking another, longer, drink of her wine, “how long has it been since you saw another Witcher? A decade? Two, three, four, ten? I’ve lost count of how long it's been for me. I thought I was the only one left alive. I was—” a deep sigh, one of frustration and pain and embarrassment, muted beneath a hard emotional block, “— _ scared _ .”

It was the truth. Every word of it. Geralt could feel it and he shared that pain. Although he would never wish for what had happened to them to happen again, he couldn’t help having felt the sting of knowing that he was one of the last of their kind. With a soft sigh Geralt tried to bring her out of the melancholy that she seemed chained up in by placing his hand over hers as it gripped her mug tight.

“Well, now there’s nothing to fear,” he said, “because you aren’t alone.”

Kalrys watched him in silence, taking in his words and their meaning. They made her feel oddly flushed, and not in the way the alcohol caused either. This was different, something she hadn’t felt before. She swallowed in apprehension, wary of this new found feeling. Fondness, she recalled it to be. She’d seen others express it, knew the theory behind it, but to truly  **feel** it for another? Even with the wine coursing through her veins it unnerved her.

“No, I suppose not,” she agreed quietly, feeling him lightly squeeze her fingers, coaxing them to let go of her mug. Following his movements her fingers coiled with his own, her eyes shifting to look at their entwined digits with a curious gaze. Her pupils, slim like slits before, were blown wide from a blend of wine and emotion, and Geralt felt warmth radiating from her in waves. 

The feeling washed over his senses, mingling with his own buzz, and made him feel content. It was as though he could let his guard down around her for she was the same as him. They could aid one another should things turn sour. 

“This is really good wine,” Geralt mused, a small chuckle spilling from his lips. With his hand still holding her own he picked up his mug with the other and downed the rest, sighing in contentment. He could feel Kalrys’ eyes watching him, her own wine forgotten in favour for— dare he say — **admiring** him. Not that he wouldn’t return the gesture. In a single look he could already tell so much about her, and she about him no doubt.

“You’re staring,” Kalrys whispered, lips curling in a smile. Her cat-like eyes glowed as she basked in his attention, laughing in tandem with him when he allowed another chuckle to leave his lips.

“How can I not stare at you?” Geralt asked, tilting his head slightly. He even went as far as to sit sideways on the bench to regard her fully, taking both her hands in his own. “I can’t really explain it,” he sighed, brow pinched in confusion, “the way you make me feel—”

Now it was Geralt’s turn to be interrupted as a deliberate cough cut his own drunken confession short.

Jaskier stood before their table with wide, curious eyes, his lute in hand. It seemed he had stopped playing already, most of his audience milling about in their intoxication while some were asleep at their table or the bar.

“Oh, look at you two! Getting rather cosy, aren’t we?” He commented as he pointed between them, a hand on his hip. “Now,” he clapped his hands together, quickly sitting at the bench across from Kalrys, the look on his face one of excited anticipation, “tell me, Kalrys, what you thought of my performance?”

With the spell broken, and his mood soured, Geralt had let go of Kalrys’ hands and turned to face Jaskier, his well-known scowl firmly back in place.

“Well,” Kalrys began, turning slowly to face the Bard, sparing a glance to the Witcher at her side before she did. He seemed unable to hide his anger and disappointment at Jaskier’s sudden appearance and she too felt disheartened that their contact had ended. “You were  **very** enthusiastic,” she smiled, careful with her wording, “I enjoyed it, Jaskier. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.” Her assessment seemed to suffice as Jaskier gave a boastful cheer, thanking her kindly before taking her hand and pressing two gracious kisses to her scarred knuckles.

“See, Geralt?” Jaskier goaded, prouder than a rooster, “Sweet, beautiful, Kalrys didn’t find my songs  **lacking** at all!”

The Witcher gave a groan, rolling his eyes at Jaskier’s broad grin and triumphant tone. How he still tolerated his presence was beyond him.

The Witcheress merely watched their interaction in quiet glee, allowing them their moment of boyish posturing while she polished off the last of her wine; this night had proved far better in their company than it would have been if she had been alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Her Sweet Kiss & Lullaby of Woe on loop to get this number out and boy do I feel wrecked because of it (in a good way).  
> Also, Jaskier is a loveable cockblock and ya'll can't convince me otherwise.


	4. Velen

The third, and seemingly final, time the Witcher encountered the Witcheress was in the wilds of Velen.

The rain poured continuously across the open fields, drenching everything in its wake. Lightning flashed bright against the dark clouds, splitting the sky with brilliant light before the thunder roared. The ground beneath Geralt’s feet had turned to mud within minutes, his pace churning the soggy earth and grass with each step he took. His Witcher senses were barely usable through the deafening downpour, which meant his hunt would have to wait while the storm raged on.

In the distance he saw what looked to be an abandoned village and strode quickly towards it, wanting to be out of this blasted rain. He was thankful he had left Roach behind at the inn’s stables.

The buildings, scorched black and dilapidated, were the obvious victims of a tragedy, though it had been many years since the act occurred. The air, when his senses weren’t consumed with the scent of wet earth and water, smelled stale and void of anything that would cause him ill will. The only life there were insects and a boar roaming through.

With a grunt Geralt managed to push aside a broken down door to enter the most intact of the dwellings, and even that was still a far cry from decent. The wooden furniture was damp and rotted and nature had taken possession of most of the space with vines, creepers, and grasses that penetrated through the broken floorboards and walls.

“Well, it could be worse,” Geralt mused aloud, working to try and get a fire going in an old hearth. The old stone was covered in years of dirt and dust but unbroken and there were some small branches scattered about that were dry enough to ignite. Igni made simple work of the task and he took the chance to rest through the worst of the storm.

So when the door was suddenly kicked open with a loud bang, Geralt barely reacted in time. From the haze of the pouring rain a figure emerged and quickly entered the old dwelling, dripping water everywhere as they quickly retrieved the now cracked door and heaved it back towards the entrance. They propped it up as best they could to block out the rain, sighing in relief.

Geralt remained still at the other end of the room, sword drawn and in a defensive stance, ready to strike should he need to. He sensed no ill will from the figure, which seemed humanoid for the most part, and in fact the scent seemed oddly familiar.

It was almost like—  **No** . It couldn’t be. It was only when the stranger turned and spotted him did he realise why he knew the scent.

“Geralt?” A voice called, shocked.

The scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke, though faint and mingled with the smell of dampness, drifted closer to him and Geralt couldn’t contain his look of surprise as the figure removed their hood and revealed themself.

**Kalrys of Koviri** .

It had been nearly a decade since he had seen her last and had, in times of quiet reverie, feared that she too may have passed on, but upon seeing her now she looked no worse for wear, except for being soaked through by the storm. Her hair, which hung limply to her mid arm, was stained dark by the rain, as were her clothes.

“Kalrys, you’re here,” Geralt breathed, slowly sheathing his sword as his body relaxed. Even looking as she did he still found that she held that fierce beauty from all those years ago. He took a step forward but stopped himself, his brow creased. What was she even doing there? And how had she happened across the same deserted hovel that he had? These things concerned him because they were far too coincidental, but at the same time he didn’t dislike that she was there.

“Why  **are** you here?” He asked as he watched her move to sit by the fire, warming her hands and wringing the water from her hair.

“I was passing through when the storm hit,” Kalrys sighed, “my horse, Zephyr, got spooked and threw me off. She bolted towards the main road, but I lost sight of her in the rain and my Witcher senses couldn’t focus enough to find her.”

Geralt nodded as he listened; it had been the same for him, the rain had been so disorientating that his Witcher senses couldn’t focus. Suspicion clouded his mind at the nature of the storm, given everything that was going on in the world with Nilfgaard and the war.

“You think the storm was intentional?” Kalrys questioned, her eyes narrowed curiously.

“It could be,” Geralt mused, troubled by the thought. If that were the case then he didn’t know how long the storm may last and that irked him. He just wanted to be on his way and now this storm had put his plans on hold.

“I see,” she nodded, glancing to the cloak she had draped over a rickety chair near the fire, “at least it will give my clothes time to dry.” It was dry humour, but Geralt could see that she was trying to lighten the mood. He gave a small shake of his head as he came to sit next to her by the fire, but there was a small smile upon his lips and she returned the gesture.

After a spell of comfortable silence both of them were in better spirits, dry and warm as they enjoyed each other's company despite the awful weather outside. They each told one another of their comings and goings, all the while becoming closer the more they revealed about themselves.

“This one? This is why they call me The Red Griffon,” Kalrys hummed as she ran a finger over the prominent scar on her face. Many had asked the story of it and, unlike Geralt, saw only pride in her scars. They were reminders that she had battled with monsters and survived.

“It hadn’t even been a year of me being a fully fledged Witcher when the first sightings of the Griffon came. It had been stealing livestock and the townsfolk were panicked that, with the winter coming, they would be starved by the beast. I took the contract because I wanted to earn my right to be called a Griffin,” she explained, a distant look in her eyes as she stared into the flames. “That damn thing tried it's hardest to kill me, but I used Aard to repel its attacks...” Her voice faded and her lip curled in a scowl.

“I should have kept my eyes on the damned thing and not looked away!” She hissed to herself, pulling her legs up to her chest to hug them. “I was worried about my horse, my  **first** horse, and it sensed that. Made a break towards him and when I ran to try and stop it it turned tail and lashed out at me. I was able to pull back in time for it not to kill me, but it was able to get close enough to do this.” With a motion to the scar on her face she turned her gaze to Geralt, who had been sitting quietly as he listened to her.

“You’re lucky you didn’t go blind,” Geralt pointed out, unable to stop himself from looking into those cat-like eyes that glowed like embers in the fire light.

“I know,” she answered softly, “but I didn’t, and I’m not dead, either.”

There was something in the way she spoke those words that beckoned him closer and he felt weak and powerless to resist. As he shifted to be closer to her she too moved and met him halfway. The rain seemed distant as he came to kneel before her, while she did the same, his hands coming to gently cup her face.

“That night, in White Orchard,” Kalrys whispered as her own hand came to stroke his cheek, the other resting on his chest, “I should have stayed.” The emotion in her voice was raw and unhindered, and Geralt could feel it consume him whole. The bond they shared, first as Witchers, was now something more; something  **real** .

There was no resistance when her lips found his in a chaste kiss. Such a simple act of affection had Geralt invested and it took little time for him to deepen the kiss, his hands sliding down to her waist to pull her closer to him.

Even after the storm had passed and the rain had ended, Kalrys and Geralt remained together, but they both knew that it wouldn’t last forever.

As Kalrys busied herself in redressing herself she felt the gentle pressing of lips to her bare neck, trailing down to her shoulder, and a knowing smile bloomed on her face. Bare arms encircled her waist and she twisted slightly to look at Geralt.

“Stop that,” she playfully reprimanded him, though her hand came to tangle in his hair, “I need to get dressed.” 

“Mhm, I prefer you without them,” he mused, taking in her scent as he nosed her shoulder. Cinnamon and woodsmoke, another scent he would remember forever.

Kalrys rolled her eyes with a small chuckle, turning fully to take him into her arms. She took a moment to regard him before leaning in to press a long, heartfelt kiss to his lips. When she finally pulled away she gave a sigh, eyes looking at him with a bittersweet expression before broke free of the embrace.

Geralt knew what that look meant and it caused him to frown, but he allowed her to pull away from him nonetheless.

As they both dressed they remained quiet, contemplating what this encounter would mean for them both in the future. Geralt’s heart already ached for his beloved, but he couldn’t deny the feelings he possessed for her. Like Kalrys he was torn and the situation did not sit well with him.

“Geralt,” came her call, sadness lacing her voice, as she reached her hand out towards him “it’s time.”

Taking her offered hand, Geralt left the abandoned village with her, coming to a halt when they reached one of the main roads. Not far from them a blue roan mare trotted out from a thicket of trees, whinnying when she caught sight of the two Witchers.

“Zephyr,” Kalrys smiled as she spotted the horse but it soon soured as she looked at him. Her hand squeezed his own before she leaned in for another kiss, this one more desperate than the last.

It was harder to pull away this time and it was Geralt that finally ended it. To linger would only make things worse. Quick and as painless as it could be.

No words were shared as she moved away from him, retreating down the road towards her horse. All the while he watched her and continued to watch as she galloped away, until he could see her no more. With a heavy sigh Geralt turned to continue on his own way, hoping that she would find a sense of peace in this world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was bittersweet just how I like it. I hope you all like it! But, this is not the end ;}  
> Apologies for the late upload, I'm struck down with the flu and feel bloody awful.


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